Inquisitive
by bamftastik
Summary: Exploring the idea of the various companions influencing the next generation. Could these be future Inquisitors? Probably not, since the in-game origins will likely rule out these encounters, but I still like the idea of companions plus kids.
1. Mya (and Zevran)

The Chantry sisters always had the best food. They would gather in the piazza every day when the sun was at its highest, navigating the swarms of the hungry and homeless to distribute what they could. Even in the sticky summer heat, even when there wasn't enough to go around, they still came. Around the corner someone might stick a knife in your ribs for a smelly old fish, but no one ever harmed the sisters. Mya had always found that odd. Without them most of these people wouldn't find another meal, but to Mya it had always seemed like the Chantry itself protected them. Its smooth stone walls rose high above the shouting crowds, its pretty glass windows sparkling in the noonday sun. People respected the Chantry. It reminded them that, even here, the Maker was watching.

She stared up at it, shaken from her daydream as she was jostled from behind. The children of the canals were out in force today, all pushing for their place in line. Mya was one of them, but she was getting bigger now. Soon she wouldn't be a child at all. The boy squirming beside her was small. It would be an easy thing to shove him back, to knock him down and assure herself a hunk of stale bread and a ladle of yesterday's chowder. But the Chantry's windows felt like eyes, bright and wide and penetrating.

Someone else was pushing through the crowd behind her. Waves of curses and angry murmurs came ahead of him, washing over her like waves. He wasn't giving people a choice. They either moved aside or got knocked out of the way.

When the man threw himself on the Chantry steps, Mya got a better look at him. He was a fat man, red-faced and sweating. By his clothes, she would have called him rich, but looking closer she saw the stains, the tears in the bright cloak that he clutched around himself like armor. He was a big man and his big bellows carried over all the rest.

"Mercy! Maker, have mercy!"

Some of the sisters stopped what they were doing and looked up in surprise. Mya felt a surge of anger. _She_ had been waiting all morning. Most of them had.

But the man was paying no attention to the food. When he glanced behind him, she realized that he wasn't really seeing any of them. He was too afraid.

"Sanctuary!" He threw himself at the feet of an elderly sister, clawing at the hem of her robe. "Please! I demand sanctuary!"

The man was too big, too strong. The sister stumbled and fell to her knees. As the others rushed to her side, two Templars appeared and took the man by the arms, hauling him to his feet. He hadn't attacked her - not really - but in the commotion the sisters had spilled their soup, left their basket of bread to the surging crowd. Mya would go hungry today, all because of the man being dragged weeping across the piazza.

With nowhere else to go and rage boiling in her empty gut, she slipped through the press, following the Templars. They deposited the man just beyond the crowd, ignoring his protests. She drew close enough to smell his sweat and his fear, close enough to hear the last of their words.

"We know you, ser. We know why you beg. Perhaps the wisest course would be to think on what you have done and make your peace with the Maker."

They left him there, quivering on the cobblestones. The crowd was dispersing, breaking around them. When the man's watery eyes met hers, it felt as if the two of them were alone in the world. Did he fear her too, to shy away so?

No, his eyes were fixed on something behind her. Mya turned. Two figures stalked across the piazza, the sea of people parting before them. They didn't need to push, didn't need to hurry. Anyone in their path took one look and scrambled out of the way.

Mya had never seen the men before, but she knew them. Everyone knew them. The fat man choked on a scream.

He pushed to his feet and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, trying to lose himself between the buildings. The two men followed. Mya knew what happened now, knew why even the Templars wouldn't help. She should turn away like everyone else, but the men had left a wide wake. It was an easy thing to slip along behind them.

She found them in an alley, just out of sight of the Chantry's ever-watching eyes. The fat man had fallen down again, his once fine robes soaking in a puddle of night soil. He wasn't begging anymore, at least. He knew there was no point. Instead, he had taken the Templar's advice and was muttering prayers to the Maker.

Mya crouched down behind a barrel to watch.

"Bloody coward."

The taller of the two men spit at his feet. He had a rough chin and a cruel smile, his words garbled by an accent that she couldn't place. The other man was smaller - prettier, too. Golden-skinned and golden-haired, he leaned against the wall and produced a tiny dagger to clean the dirt from beneath his fingernails.

"Get on with it, my friend."

His companion grinned and kicked the fat man. "You know why we're here, coward? You know who sent us? Well? Speak up, now." He moved to strike the man again, but the pretty one got there first.

The dagger that had been playing between his fingers disappeared, a flick of his wrist lodging it in the fat man's jowls. As he crouched in front of him and drove the blade deeper, he tsked. "My friend is rude, but you know the sort. So uncouth, no appreciation for the art. And always smelling of filth."

The fat man died there, blood bubbling from his lips as he collapsed into the arms of his killer. Mya watched the man as he separated himself from the strange embrace. There was a tattoo on his cheek that she hadn't noticed before, curling beneath his golden hair. They didn't bother to hide their faces, to hide who they were or what they did. Everyone knew them. These were murderers, assassins, Crows.

The pretty one with the tattoo stared down at the blood on his hands with obvious distaste. He wiped them on the dead man's cloak and relieved him of his purse before pushing to his feet.

The other Crow was pouting. "I don't smell."

His companion chuckled. "_This_ is what offends you?"

"What, the 'uncouth' thing? I thought that's why you liked me."

"Mm. Perhaps."

The taller man grabbed for the purse, but the pretty one was quicker. He slipped it behind his back, pinning the other man's arm with it. Then he pushed up on his toes and pulled him into a fleeting kiss.

"Yeah, yeah. Give us the coin."

He shook the purse out into his palm, holding up a warning finger when the other man grabbed for it again. Carefully, he selected a shiny silver coin, walking it across the back of his knuckles. Then his eyes locked to Mya. With a grin he flicked the coin high, sending it tumbling end over end down the alley toward her hiding place. She moved without thinking, snatching it from the air.

Before the other Crow could protest, the pretty one took him by the arm and - with a wink for Mya - disappeared.


	2. Nell (and Shale)

She could tell which ones had given up. She could see it in the way they huddled in their doorways, in the way they sat hunched around their fires. Even at the height of the afternoon, Dust Town didn't see much activity, at least not the kind she wanted to be a part of. There was no bustling market here, no jobs to go to. Most people didn't even bother to beg anymore. Why should they? There was no one left to beg from.

Some sat lounging on the steps of crumbling homes, raucous packs of fledgling thugs who challenged any to come near. Others simply stared. Nell kept her distance from both. She sat alone in an empty doorway, her back against one wall and her boots resting against the other. She wasn't ready to give up, didn't want to be one of the starers. She also didn't want to be part of the Carta. She didn't want to be one of the ones who laughed too loudly and always kept an eye over their shoulder. She couldn't pretend that it was all a game, couldn't pretend that she didn't see.

But time was running out. She couldn't sit alone much longer. Nell wasn't pretty enough to borrow a fancy dress and some sparkly jewels and find herself a patron. Jarvia said she didn't have a face worth selling. But she did have thick shoulders and strong hands. The Carta would find work for her, and plenty of it. She wasn't a child any longer. It was time to make her own way, time to make a choice.

She worried her lucky stone between her fingers. It hung on a thong around her neck, a gift from her father before a knife in the back had ended his brief tenure with the Carta. He hadn't belonged here either. He'd been Warrior Caste once, had even gone ranging into the Deep Roads. But then he'd been caught stuffing his bags with stolen relics and they had ended up here. Nell wasn't angry. Her memories of him were fond ones.

Her father always told the best stories. She was too old now to believe most of them, but it still felt good to remember. In the Deep Roads, he'd said, the might of the dwarves was still preserved. The thaigs still stood, full of traps and treasure. Golems, too - whole armies of them waiting to be woken, ready to push back the darkspawn and reclaim their lost halls. Even as a child, Nell had known better. Once, the dwarves had forged mighty weapons, built legions of stone soldiers who could feel no pain. Once, their cities had stretched beneath the whole world. But the golems were gone and the thaigs were lost. Now, there was only this.

Except for her father's stone. He had known his daughter well, had known which stories she liked best. It was a piece of a golem, he'd said, an old guardian who had awakened to save him from a band of darkspawn. Together they'd fought their way out and, as a token of thanks, the creature had let him keep a piece of itself that had chipped off during the fight.

It was one of his silliest stories but, as a child, there was none that she'd wanted to believe more. If there were still golems in the deeps, the dwarves wouldn't be hiding, shut up in their crumbling city. If there were still golems, Orzammar would be more than a shadow of what it once was. But the golems were all gone and dead. The days of the dwarves would soon be over, too.

Turning the stone in her hand, she watched a group of boys sitting across the way. They were new Carta, a few years older than her. Normally they'd be laughing, boasting of their latest crimes, but today they sat with their heads bent close together, murmuring excitedly.

Nell pushed to her feet. "Hey, Jace. What's got you gossiping like a barmaid?"

The boy grinned up at her. Someone had knocked out even more of his teeth. "Grey Wardens in the Diamond Quarter. Seen 'em myself."

"Like they'd let you in the Diamond Quarter."

One of his friends laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. "See? Even the little warrior here doesn't believe you." His eyes raked over her. "You give Jarvia your answer yet, warrior?"

"Maybe." Nell folded her arms. "Did you really see Grey Wardens?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

Grey Wardens were the sort of thing that would have all the young dwarves talking. She could only remember a handful of times that they'd visited Orzammar before. But it didn't matter. People were always eager to see hope, even when there wasn't any.

She shook her head. "You know why they're here, don't you?"

"To fight the darkspawn. Everyone knows that."

"There's only one reason a Grey Warden comes here." Nell stared down at each of them in turn. "They come here when they've given up. They come here to die."

With that, she left them. She couldn't sit anymore, couldn't stay still. Her steps carried her along the dusty streets, past more hovels and more vacant eyes. Once, the dwarves had fought alongside the Grey Wardens. Once, they'd pushed the darkspawn back. Now, she wondered if Orzammar would even bother to fight when the time came. One good surge and the darkspawn would overrun them. And most of these people would just sit here and let it happen.

She'd come to what passed for Dust Town's market. There were no stalls, no noise, no cheerful hawking of wares. Here, the merchants embedded themselves like ticks, barricading themselves in their shops and casting a wary eye on any customers who dared to venture inside. Today, though, there was some sort of commotion. A pair of excited children nearly barreled into her as she came around a corner and she watched them go, listened to their fading laughter.

"The door's too low. You'll have to wait here."

"While it buys itself more trinkets? It will expect me to carry them, no doubt."

"Merchants also sell information."

"Bah."

Looking toward the strange voices, Nell's eyes went wide. Were these the Grey Wardens? They didn't look like warriors of legend. They didn't even look particularly fierce. These were soft, bickering creatures, too young and too pretty. It wasn't for them that she'd stopped dead in the middle of the street, wasn't them that made her clutch at the stone around her neck.

Her father had told it true.

The man with the griffons on his armor ducked into the shop, taking the two others with him. He was right - the door was half collapsed, too low. So he'd left his golem outside.

His _golem_. It was smaller than she would have thought, but there was no mistaking the thick stone arms, the softly glowing runes, the crystals that twinkled prettily across its chest and shoulders. Nell had never seen anything so beautiful.

She took a hesitant step forward. If she didn't know better, she'd say the creature looked restless. It watched the people come and go, watched them gape in shock and keep their distance. As she drew closer, Nell heard it give a rumbling sigh.

The golem saw her, then. There was a grinding of stone as it looked down at her, its eyes narrowing. "Go away."

"You're a golem."

"The little dwarf has eyes. It must be very proud."

"I've never seen a golem before. I've always wanted to."

"If the little dwarf is feeling fulfilled, perhaps it will not mind when I crush its head."

"Do you do that a lot? Head crushing?"

"Oh, yes."

"Must be nice."

The golem tilted its head curiously. "You are a strange little dwarf."

"You're a strange golem. Not like I thought you'd be."

"And how should I be, if the little dwarf is so wise?"

"Dead."

The golem barked a laugh. "I am not dead." It noticed her necklace and gestured with a thick finger. "What is it clutching?"

"This." Nell held the stone up for inspection.

The creature almost smiled. "Hm. Pretty."

She tucked the stone back into her shirt. "My father said it came from a golem, a piece that broke off when-"

"Bah! Barbaric. Come closer, little dwarf. I promise not to crush it."

Nell took a careful step backwards. "I wear it to _remember_. I'd rather be a golem than a dwarf, any day. I want to be strong. I want to fight. I don't want to die here."

The golem blinked, if golems blink. "It cannot be a golem, but the little dwarf is wise to wish it." Again, it sighed. "But if it enjoys crushing, then crush. If it would fight, fight."

No, this wasn't how she'd imagined golems at all. But the fact that it was here, that there was one golem left walking around, talking to her, fighting alongside the Grey Wardens… it felt strangely like hope.

For the first time in months, Nell smiled. "Maybe I'll get some of those crystals, too. They're very pretty."

There, in the dim filth of Dust Town, the golem smiled back.


End file.
